 Zing
Rufin almost ran into the shop. He needed coffee. Proper muggle coffee. None of this magical stuff; he'd got used to the loveliness of muggle coffee when he was working in the German Ministry and, for some reason, preferred it to anything not made without magic. He went to the little self serve section and made himself a coffee, paying for it as he took a sip. Mmmmmmmmmmm. He held the warm cup in his hands and left the shop to brave the cold early-year wind. |